


Shelter

by silkmoth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, First Time, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not canon after S 3a, Protective Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkmoth/pseuds/silkmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is coming home. Well, not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter

**Shelter**

 

_The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there._

L.P. Hartley  
The Go-Between

_Chapter One_

 

"Dadada dada dumdum," Stiles sang listlessly while he steered his red jeep around another construction site on the Beacon Hills' main road. His last visit home had been about two years ago and, in the meantime, the future had apparently arrived in Beacon Hills. Not that he really cared. He knew, though, that his dad was happy about the new economy, the preservation of jobs (not to mention the fact he had four more deputies now) and the soaring financial growth. The newly paved streets would also be welcome to his father, no doubts there, even if they were a pain in the ass for everyone who drove these streets today. 

Stiles just didn't care.

_I'm not even home yet and I can't wait to leave again._ It was an unfair thought, unfair to his dad and unfair to his friends - _Friends? Do you really still call them friends?_ -, but Stiles couldn't help it. The moment he had driven into town, a smothering feeling of confinement had closed around him. All the joy about coming home and his pride about his achievements at Harvard had been whisked away in a second.

Stiles took the turn into the street that would take him home and parked in front of his father's house. The tightness in his chest increased. _All I want is to sleep for a month and wake up again back in Boston._ The fellowship at the BMC following his MD program would be hell on Earth, Stiles had no doubts about that, but it still sounded better to start right now and not to spend a month in Beacon Hills.

_Ah well. It's no use._ Wearily, he climbed out of the car, dragging his suitcase and two other bags behind him, feeling far older than 27 years.

 

***

 

"We'll arrive tomorrow. Mona can't wait to meet you; why, I don't know." Stiles heard Scott's snicker over the phone and sighed inwardly. "I'll have to take care of a few things first. As far as I heard, Lydia will be there a few days later."

"Well, I also can't wait to meet Mona. Finally, a chance to tell the poor girl to run away as fast as she can."

"Ha ha, funny. - Stiles, we… we have to talk."

"Dude, we _are_ talking."

"No, not over the phone. I… it's not that… just take care of yourself 'till I'm there, okay?"

"Scott, what? Another monster of the week? Should I stay out of the woods? What?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just…" Stiles heard the murmur of a female voice in the background. "Look, I have to go. See you tomorrow, right?"

"Right. Have fun. Bye."

_Terrific._

Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose with his cell and thought about the note his father had left for him in the kitchen.

 

_Sorry I'm not here, two people sick at the station, had to take on double-shift. If you aren't too tired, come over. Or we'll meet tomorrow, I'll get lunch. We have to talk._

 

_We have to talk. We have to talk. Talk about what, dammit? Gnaaaaaa._ For the first time, Stiles seriously considered throwing the gifts he bought on the couch in the living room and leaving for good. He didn't like this we-have-to-talk-business. Nothing good ever came out of these words. He also didn't like it when Scott sounded like his father and vice versa.

With a groan, Stiles sat down on his bed and considered his options: An awkward, stern or whatever speech from his father at the station. Calling Scott again in a few hours and demanding an explanation and probably failing. Waiting for his father to hear the no doubt 'good' news at lunch tomorrow. Driving back to Boston. Drowning himself in the shower.

Finally, he decided to text Lydia.

 

Stilesssssssss:  
What's going on in BH that I missed?

 

A few seconds later the answer came:

 

Lydia'sSong:  
You don't want to know.

Stilesssssssss:  
Yes, I do!

Lydia'sSong:  
No you don't. Ignorance is bliss. See you soon.

 

This time, Stiles threw the cell down on his bed and only a moment later he fell back on it. _That's Beacon Hills for you, and don't you forget it. You wanted to go on this vacation, remember?_ He stared at the ceiling, then jumped up again, got his car keys and cell and ran downstairs.

_Fine. There is one person here who won't mince his words about whatever is going on._

When he started the car, Stiles noticed the tightness in his chest was gone.

 

***

 

After hearing the barked 'YES!" that even cut through the steel door, Stiles entered Derek's apartment and - _Fuck. I forgot. No, I didn't really forget. Fuck._

"The young Doctor Stilinski. An honor. What do you want?"

Stiles couldn't really process the words. While he walked down the few stairs, he croaked, "I'm sorry?" _God, this was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. Jesus Christ, he's beautiful._ A few more steps. _And grumpy._ Another step, then Stiles stood still. _And… grubby. Very grubby. What the hell?_

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"Uh… are you working on something?"

"What?"

"You… never mind. Hi. Good to see you." Stiles cringed immediately.

"Are you on drugs?"

Wow. Okay. This didn't go at all the way Stiles had thought this would go.

_Regroup!_

He shook himself all over, very dramatically.

"Hello, Derek! I'm happy to see you. Sorry I didn't call you, but the last three years were very stressful, but I just arrived and here I am. I'm very glad to see the renovation of this town hasn't included you yet." Derek's eyes became slightly glassy, but Stiles was feeling relentless. "I have two questions for you: What's going on here and why are you dirty all over?" Stiles was a bit proud of himself, but suppressed it quickly. Being proud of his idea of Derek-Baiting while being in the same room with the man surely wasn't a good idea. In the past, it never had been.

Eyes narrowing, Derek looked him over and then, suddenly, relaxed his stance completely, smiling. "Take a seat, Stiles. You want something to drink?"

"Uh… yeah. Do you have a beer?" Intelligent question. Stiles just had to look at the tables in this room; empty bottles were everywhere.

"I do. Sit down." Derek left for the kitchen, and Stiles swallowed the question, "Where?" He had been totally focused on Derek and now found himself stunned by the mess he was looking at. There was trash all over; take-out boxes -not all of them empty-, cans, old newspapers, books that had seen better days, and mail, but mostly dirt and bottles. And not all of them beer bottles, not by a long shot.

_Okay. Don't freak._

Stiles shoved down old papers and what looked like a few gun magazines from the couch and squeezed into the free spot. _Hell, whatever. You wouldn't win any housekeeping contests either._ But he couldn't kid himself; Derek's apartment had always been spotless. _Well, if you don't count the time with the blood and water._ He was just trying to read inconspicuously one of the letters lying on the table when an open bottle of beer landed in front of him and on top of the letter. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Derek sat down on the floor. "Your questions; first, I have no idea what you're talking about and second, I haven't showered in a while."

"You don't say. Is your shower not working?"

"It's working perfectly fine. I haven't felt like showering."

"Okay. What's going on, Derek? What… I've never seen your place in such a mess. What happened? You haven't felt like cleaning, either?"

"Exactly. How are you doing? A few weeks off before you start on your… whatever you will do?"

"Yeah, a month, actually. And don't even think about throwing me off. Why do you feel that body hygiene is not really necessary?"

"I wasn't in the mood." A calculated look. "But I think I'm in the mood now." Derek got up and took a few steps, then turned back to Stiles. One eyebrow went up. "Do you want to wash my back?"

Somehow, Stiles managed to not spew beer everywhere. "Excuse me? Are you mad?"

Coldness replaced calculation. "I asked you a question; yes or no, it's up to you." With that, he turned again and trotted upstairs without looking back.

_I'm down the rabbit hole,_ Stiles thought dazedly. Without meaning to, he stood up slowly. _Are you crazy? You can't… this is so NOT a good idea! He's the one on drugs. Or more probably, he is drunk out of his mind!_

Stiles slipped out of shoes and socks and, while stalking upstairs to Derek's bathroom, opened his pants. _Werewolves don't get drunk. And now shut the hell up._

 

***

 

Stiles was very aware of the fact that Derek would already know he was awake, but he kept his eyes closed anyway against the morning sun streaming into Derek's bedroom. The mattress under his right palm was still warm; Derek apparently just got up.

The feelings of content and bewilderment were a weird mix, Stiles pondered. Certainly nothing he had felt before. Derek Hale. _Jesus. Weird doesn't even begin to cover it. Neither does hot._ Stiles bit on his lower lip, hard. First the shower, over far too quickly, then the bed, also too fast, but very messy, and back to the shower. It had been hot and awkward and awesome and hot and… troubling. _Very troubling._ He heard someone move around in the room behind him and so he sighed, yawned and stretched his arms and legs, then opened his eyes. And saw Derek, gloriously naked, staring at Stiles' cell. 

_Yeah. It will be an awesome day, I can already tell._

"Good morning," he said, keeping his voice soft.

Derek turned towards him, face without expression, which meant very bad things were about to happen, but Stiles already knew that, thank you very much. He wasn't an idiot.

"Morning." Even Derek's voice was flat. "Scott sent you a message; he's searching for you."

Stiles sat up, rubbing his face and combing his fingers through his hair. "Is it already afternoon?"

"It's nine o'clock."

"Wow. That means he must have gotten up at… oh god, at six in the morning, at least. He must be in a hurry." There was no answer; Stiles considered for a minute asking Derek again what was going on, but decided against it. He stood up, stomping on any complex that might arise in the comparison of their naked bodies in the sunlight. Derek hadn't been uninterested in Stiles' body last night, after all.

Stiles searched around for his clothes and got dressed while Derek just stood there, not really looking, but not not-looking either. Finally, Stiles went over and took his cell out of Derek's hand, and, going with the moment, leaned forward to kiss him. Derek dodged him, like he had done all night, and Stiles' lips only brushed his cheek.

Yes. It would be a wonderful day.

"Is there any chance of a cup of coffee?"

"I've got no coffee." Derek didn't look at him. "You better hurry."

"Yeah. See you."

"Goodbye, Stiles."

 

_Chapter Two_

 

Before he called Scott, Stiles sprayed pine air freshener into his car, threw all his clothes into the washer, including his sneakers that he probably sentenced to death by doing so, and took a long shower, soaping and scrubbing himself all over with the meanest smelling shower gel he found in his father's bathroom.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Where the hell have you been?"

"I took the road down to Childhood, becoming quite sentimental," Stiles smarted.

"The whole night?"

"Lots of history."

"Are you at home now?"

Stiles started to feel his hackles rising. "Yes, sir! Won't move until you're here."

"We're coming over." The line went dead.

_'We'. Great._

Stiles looked at the clock; 10:30. His dad wouldn't be home before two p.m., so he had some time to deal with whatever…

The doorbell rang.

"You've got to be kidding me," Stiles groused.

The bell rang again.

"It's open, come on in," he yelled, baring his teeth. Then he went into the kitchen, finally making some coffee.

 

***

 

Mona was… well. Actually, she looked exactly how Stiles expected her to look. Dark long hair. Very pretty. Very fit. Very petite. The only surprise was her eye color, gray. Scott hadn't changed at all, neither his own looks nor his preferences.

They sat at the kitchen table, each of them in front of a cup of coffee. Stiles swallowed some, but before he could open his mouth and ask Scott what this was all about, Mona smiled at him, showing pearly white teeth. "It's so good to finally meet you, Stiles. I've heard so much about you."

"Really? You shouldn't believe a thing; Scott's always lying through his teeth when it comes to me. He's jealous," Stiles replied. It sounded lame to his own ears. "How long are you guys together?"

"Five weeks, now," Mona answered, stroking over Scott's cheek. She had long, bright red finger nails.

Stiles watched Scott looking at his girlfriend. There was something new in that look. Stiles was used to the protective look, to the mix of love and lust that probably looked dumb on every man all over the word, but the… possessiveness was new. He didn't know what to make of it.

_All right. Whatever._

"Scott, what's going on?"

Mona lowered her eyes, and Scott appeared angry and nervous at the same time. He was kind of vibrating on the spot. "Look, Stiles, I… wanted to call you when it happened. But I didn't. It's kind of a… pack thing. You know. But I didn't want your dad to tell you so…"

"What? What happened? Spit it out, man!" _And stop talking about a 'pack thing'._ Stiles wondered how he had ever considered _this_ Real Life.

"Derek…" Stiles' heart thumped hard, "… he tried to force himself on Mona."

Stiles stared. Then he shook his head. "What?"

"I said Derek tried to…"

"What does that mean, 'force himself on her'? He tried to rape her?"

"No," Mona said, looking up, eyes red, voice cold. "He really couldn't even when he wanted to."

_She's an Alpha. Oh, fuck me._

Shaking his head again, Stiles stumbled over his words. "Wait. I… When did this happen?"

"Three weeks ago." Scott's eyes were now red, too. "You should have seen Mona, she was…"

Mona cut him off. "He came on to me, not for the first time. I told him 'no'. He tried to kiss me, and I…" She looked down at the table, and Stiles stopped the noise that wanted out of his mouth by quickly covering his lips with his hand. _Yeah, that sounds like Derek. Not._

Mona continued in a quiet voice, "It took me some time to get him off me. I…"

"She was bruised all over when she finally came home," Scott hissed and earned an angry look from Mona.

_He can't believe this story, right? He can't… oh god, look at him. He believes every word she says. What the hell, Scott? How can an Alpha become bruised 'all over' by a Beta, for more than, say, a few minutes? What the fucking hell?_

Stiles' hand stayed where it was, clamped over his mouth. To the other two, he probably looked shocked, but what he really wanted was to keep the words in, for as long as an angry female Alpha, who he didn't know at all, sat at his table.

"Say something!" Scott demanded.

Swallowing, Stiles lowered his hand. "I… I don't really know what to say. Well, it seems… very out of character for Derek, don't you think? I mean maybe he was…"

"No, it's not!" Mona snapped. "I'm an Alpha."

_You don't say. And that's exactly why your story makes even less sense._

"Yes?" He asked vaguely.

Mona glanced at Scott. "You told me he knows about us."

"Not all the details. Look, Stiles, you have to…"

"What did you do, Scott? I mean, how did you react to… this?"

"We paid him a visit."

"We?"

"The pack."

Stiles leaned back on his chair, biting off his first reaction to this statement. _Awesome. Explains a lot._ "Did you report him?" he asked Mona.

"No. We deal with things like that in our own way."

_Again with the 'we'. Unbelievable._

"Why does my father know about this, then?"

Scott grunted. "I told him. After all, he has to know, right? I mean, if Derek grabs another girl. You never know."

Not for the first time, Stiles was really glad that he wasn't a werewolf. Because right at this second, he would have wolfed out like whoa and shoved Scott's head up Scott's ass.

Stiles cleared his throat. "What did my father say?"

"He was angry at _me_ , can you believe that? He said we should either report Derek or stop telling stories."

_You go, Dad._ Sadly, Stiles didn't really think it would be that easy. "Yeah, that sounds like something my dad would say."

"You know, Stiles, I thought you would flip out just like I did. You sound… strange."

"I guess I'm… still processing things. I don't know. Uh… did you tell Lydia?"

"Yes. She was here, too, when it happened."

"What did she say? I mean…"

Mona stood up abruptly. "I think she's also still processing." She looked at her watch. "I have to go."

_Yes! Out of my house, now. Then Scott's ass is…_

"Come on, Scott."

Obediently, Scott got up, looking a bit confused, but still far too angry for Stiles' taste. "We'll talk again soon, right? And stay away from Derek."

"Mah," Stiles mumbled, sipping his coffee and waving Scott off. The second he heard the front door closing, he was up at the drawers, getting a pencil, and then turned over the note his father had written and left a note of his own:

_Sorry, Dad, but I have to take care of something. Give me a call when you come home. Love you. Stiles_

He rushed out of the house and jumped into his car; he had things to buy and places to go. But firstly, he had to find a quiet spot somewhere and call Lydia. This time, texting just wouldn't do.

 

_Chapter Three_

 

_"I'm telling you, she wasn't impressed with Scott's 'I-try-to-avoid-to-kill-anyone' philosophy. That bitch."_

Juggling three bags with groceries and other stuff, Stiles found out that it didn't work to try and knock his elbow against a steel door, so he kicked it, hard. It wasn't as if Derek didn't know he was standing there. _Dumbass._

The conversation with Lydia had been troubling and frustratingly short. Anyway, he had gotten the gist of what had happened that day, but the only _good_ thing had been that Lydia shared his opinion of Mona. Stiles kicked the door again. "Open up, Derek!"

_"Funny thing, they almost killed him accidently. They tore him apart. If you want details, ask Deaton."_

The door opened. "What the fuck do you want?"

Stiles walked by, which was easy, really, because the doorway was so big. "I'm back, honey pie. I hope there's room for this somewhere." Not waiting even a second for _any_ form of reply, Stiles vanished into the kitchen. There was room for the bags -barely- on the washing machine. "Oh my god, we'll need hours to clean." Out from the corner of his eyes, Stiles saw movement at the door, so he threw one of the bags in the general direction. "Make yourself useful, okay?"

The bag was slammed onto the oven, immediately followed by the sound of breaking glass and pottery -there really hadn't been any room for the bag on the oven- and in the next moment, Derek grabbed Stiles' arm and turned him around. This time, Stiles actually managed to kiss Derek on the mouth. Just a peck -baiting was one thing, molesting something completely different- and then Stiles smiled broadly, no matter the feeling that he was kind of standing in the eye of a hurricane. "Hi there."

Face an alarming shade of red, Derek took a deep, deep breath, opened his mouth and - Stiles' cell rang. Stiles pointed at Derek, "Hold that thought," got the phone out and wriggled out of Derek's grip, starting to unpack.

"Hi, Dad." Two honey pies landed on the washer.

"Stiles, what's going on? Where are you?"

Ham. Cheese. "I talked to Scott and now I'm over at Derek's, trying to convince him to sue Mona."

Long pause. Eggs. More ham. Derek wasn't moving at all. Bread. Lettuce. "Stiles, what... I would really like to talk to you about that."

"And we will, Dad. Promise. Just not yet." Butter. Coffee. Milk.

"When?"

"I don't know. Maybe tomorrow."

An extremely long pause. Stiles started over to the fridge, ham and butter in his free hand, opened it and almost puked. "Jesus Christ." Butter and ham were somehow squeezed onto the oven, then Stiles handed the abandoned bag to Derek again. "There's dish soap in there. _Please_ , start with the fridge. Dad, you're still there?"

"Yeah. I guess there is quite a lot to talk about."

"You're right, there is. What time tomorrow?"

"Dinner at seven. Bring Derek along."

Stiles smiled. "I'll try. See you then. Bye, Dad."

"Bye, Son."

Turning around, Stiles noticed that Derek had actually started to unpack the bag, but wasn't -again- moving anymore, just staring at the tube of lubricant in his hand.

"That's not dish soap, Derek."

 

***

 

"I won't sue Mona."

"I know." Stiles was stuffing newspapers and take out boxes into gigantic trash bags. His secret plan of getting close to Derek by cleaning together hadn't worked out at all. Derek had locked himself into the bathroom, and Stiles had cleaned the fridge all by himself, had put away the groceries and was now trying to get a grip on the mess in the living room while Derek had come downstairs again to stare out of the window.

"Do you?"

"Yeah. I would bet that my father already advised you to sue her; he hates defamation."

"Are you so sure it was defamation?"

Stiles snorted. "I think the only one who thinks her story is true is Scott. Why, I don't know. Even if you ignore the blatant lie about bruises that should have healed immediately, it just doesn't make sense. If she had told a story about you trying to kill her to become an Alpha again… well. Stupid mistake."

"Yes, it was. She's still young."

Stiles looked up and sighed. "Would you do me the favor and come over here to talk? There's room on the couch now."

Derek didn't move an inch. "You should leave, Stiles."

"You know I won't go anywhere. I…"

"Why? Did you have so much fun last night?"

_Ah Jesus._ "It was glorious." _You should work on your kissing technique, though._

"You're not very experienced." Low and very, very cold.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "That's true, I'm not." At that, Derek turned around and glared, so Stiles rolled his eyes again. "What? You want me to lie about that? It's not like you didn't have fun last night, either; my not having much experience didn't turn you off, exactly. I could tell, you know?"

Derek leaned against the sill and looked at him for a while. Then he nodded. "Yes, it was fun, but fun's over now. Go home, Stiles."

"Why?"

"Didn't you understand a thing that's happening here?" Derek bared his teeth. "I'm part of the dowry. I'm a dead man."

Stiles jumped up. "Excuse me, what? You… what? She wants to kill you? Why are you even here any…"

"Stop being so dramatic. She doesn't…"

"I'm being the dramatic one? You just said you're a dead man! What the hell…" Stiles broke off when Derek raised his hand and closed the distance between them.

Now Derek rolled his eyes at him. "Sit down again. I didn't mean it literally. Well, maybe I did." He sighed. "It's hard to explain."

"Derek, I'm not exactly stupid so, Jesus Christ, _try_ to explain this whole mumbo-jumbo-werewolf-gets-beaten-up-by-his-pack-whatever stuff that's going on here!"

For a moment, Stiles thought that Derek would start to pirouette in front of him. He turned to the left, then to the right, but, thankfully, he finally just sat down beside Stiles. "I don't know where to start."

"Start _somewhere!_ "

"Right." Derek took a deep breath. He looked so uncomfortable Stiles had to suppress the notion of telling him that everything would be all right. _That would go over well._

"Mona is an Alpha. Female alphas, they are… dominant. They have to be; they're the last line of defense when it comes to protecting their children. Even the male Alphas usually submit to them. There are only a few exceptions."

"Like Kali?"

"Yes. But even Deucalion had his hands full with her. Anyway, Mona, she… doesn't want me in the pack. I guess she… doesn't matter. I'm out."

"But why? You always helped Scott with everything that…"

"Because I'm an ex-Alpha." Derek looked at Stiles, eyes a bit on the blue side. "She doesn't trust me at all. I killed an Alpha before, my own uncle. She is right, you know?"

Stiles stared, then blinked. "You would never kill Scott."

"No, I wouldn't. But she can't know that and she's right about not trusting someone like me. Stiles, it's about her pack, no, _their_ pack, Scott's and Mona's future pack. She wanted me out so she told her little story, and Scott threw me out. I'm… never mind."

"What?"

Derek didn't answer.

"Okay, whatever. Why that story, though? She could have talked to Scott about you."

"I already told you, she's very young. Sometimes I think…"

"And you let Scott believe that? Maybe someone should tell him what his girlfriend is doing?"

Derek laughed. It was a weird laugh, almost like the barking of a dog. "You want to talk him out of this relationship? Too bad I won't be able to listen in." He shook his head. "Don't, Stiles. Don't even try. Single female Alphas are very rare. No matter what she says or does, Scott will try everything in his power to keep her at his side. You know how he usually behaved around his girlfriends. Now, go and multiply it by 100, then you may get the picture. It would be totally useless. I have no idea where Scott would draw the line. Maybe at her chewing on infants? Maybe not."

Silence for a while. Derek looked totally exhausted -no surprise there, Stiles was sure Derek had never spoken so many words in such a short time in his whole life-, and Stiles was leaning back on the couch, thinking hard. 

Eventually, he shared one of his solutions with Derek. "So, now you're an Omega?"

 

***

 

Since Derek didn't seem to be willing to come downstairs again -whatever it had been that made him storm upstairs in the first place, probably the whole Omega shit- and there wasn't anything left that Stiles could shove into the trash bags, he considered following Derek. Stiles didn't feel like taking on the vast expanse -even vaster without the bed- that was Derek's living room floor all alone, only accompanied by a mop. He trotted upstairs, mentally preparing himself for an angry Derek, but instead found a seemingly depressed Derek, sitting on a chair beside the bed, staring at the wall in front of him. Stiles hesitated on the threshold, but only for a second.

"We'll need new sheets. These are probably bound for the trash can. Where do you keep them?" He opened the big wardrobe at his left and looked into it, found the sheets and took out an armful, all the while wondering why Derek didn't throw at least the bedside lamp at his head. He turned around, worried, but immediately stopped. Again, Derek was very red-faced, but the eyes were looking normal and there wasn't any additional hair so Stiles was still a step ahead. "What? The sheets were gross before we fell onto them last night, and seriously, they didn't improve since then."

"Stiles." Stiles was sure that Derek was trying very hard not to yell at him and would be probably failing any minute now. "What are you still DOING HERE?"

_There._

"I was planning on us changing the sheets and well, it would be better to turn the mattress, too." Inwardly smirking, he decided to go for it, leaving himself purposely wide open, and said, "I won't sleep another night on those sheets."

"That's right, you won't!"

_Sometimes, it's even too easy._

Stiles let his eyes become big. "Why not?" he asked.

Derek was deflating right in front of his eyes. "I… look, Stiles…"

_Oh my god, don't even try._ It wasn't as if Stiles really wanted to go there, but he saw no alternative, except cuffing himself to the bedposts and swallowing the key. "I wanted to know anyway… why did you ask me to… well, yesterday?"

Derek looked positively dumbstruck. The only thing he seemed able to do was raising his eyebrows.

Stiles raised his own right back at him.

Sitting down on the bed, Derek appeared a bit queasy. "I didn't think you would come up anyway," he murmured.

"You mean you didn't smell it on me the three years we knew each other while I was still at school?"

Derek blushed, and Stiles was completely mesmerized by the fact that Derek could do that. "I thought you'd grown out of it." Definitely defensive now.

"So you didn't smell it on me the moment I walked in yesterday? Oh wait, it would have been hard to smell anything besides your own B.O., you're right." Derek's eyes narrowed, but now Stiles was becoming serious. "One question, Derek. If Lydia had been here in my place, would you have asked her, too?"

Derek glared at him. "No! Lydia? She would have castrated me and made sure I'd've kept bleeding, just for asking. Lydia. She's really not my…" He closed his mouth quickly.

All of a sudden, breathing was easier. Stiles smiled meekly. "Thank you. I feel so special now."

Derek groaned and fell back on the bed and sat up again immediately, looking disgusted. "Let's change the sheets."

_Victory._

 

***

 

They needed to change the sheets again. Stiles sat up, gazing blearily around, then down at his watch -6 p.m., Jesus, no wonder he was hungry-, then sidewards at Derek, whose face was buried in a pillow and who didn't move a muscle. _And he has so many muscles he could…_ Stiles stopped himself and tried to get up. It wasn't easy, but with some help from one of the bed posts he managed. For some time, he just stood there and let himself be supported by said post. His legs were wobbly and he wasn't all that sure he would make it downstairs without falling flat on his face. While waking downstairs. And that would hurt.

"Derek?"

A gargling sound.

"Are you hungry?"

More gargling.

Whatever. Stiles was sure he could cook something, and at least when he'd thrown some bacon into a hot pan, Derek's werewolf nose would start twitching.

In the kitchen, Stiles finally remembered that, while he had cleaned the fridge, he hadn't done anything else in there yet. Meaning, there were no clean dishes to be found. Anywhere. Sighing, he put some dish soap into the sink, turned on the hot water, just to turn it off again. He rested his hands on the countertop, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. Keeping his game face on was apparently harder work than Stiles had thought. He knew he shouldn't complain; really, he shouldn't. After all, there was some major wish-fulfillment going on here. _Major_ wish-fulfillment. If someone had told a seventeen year old Stiles that he would finally have had a go at Derek when twenty-seven, then that Stiles would have had an orgasm on the spot and would have stopped doing anything else than waiting for the coming _hah!_ ten years.

Sadly, Stiles wasn't seventeen anymore. And by now, he wasn't too fond of being casual. 

_It isn't casual._

No. No, probably not. Stiles doubted there could be anything casual between Derek and him. But, if he hadn't known Derek, he would have definitely thought that it was casual.

_You're running in circles. Would you wait a little bit longer before you go all dramatic and emotional on him and make him jump from his own balcony and run straight to Alaska? Right now, he has quite a few things on his mind, remember? Please wait before you start asking for red roses, commitment, marriage and white doves._

Stiles wondered if he was allowed to ask for kisses.

 

***

 

About an hour later, the kitchen was clean, and Stiles heard steps coming from above. He looked at the bacon sizzling in the pan. _Typical._ He shook off any lingering melancholic thoughts. Soon to be faced with Derek in an unknown mood, he needed to gather his wits. Badly.

"The bacon is burning."

_Grumpy. I can deal with grumpy._

"No, it's not." Turning around, Stiles put the so not burned bacon to the scrambled eggs and toast and shoved one plate at Derek. "Here, eat." When the plate wasn't immediately taken, Stiles looked up, straight into thoughtful eyes.

"Did something happen?"

_Ah god, he isn't only looking, he's also sniffing!_ "Well, while you were fast asleep, I cleaned the kitchen. And let me tell you…

"I didn't ask you to."

"No, you didn't, but since I was hungry and there wasn't one clean… you know what? Take this thing, dammit, it's getting hotter than my fingers are comfortable with!"

Taking the plate, Derek looked down at it critically.

"What? You don't like scrambled eggs?"

"I like them fine. I don't like onio…" Derek broke off in the middle of a word and wolfed out quicker than Stiles had ever seen a werewolf doing so before. In the split of a second, he was all about fangs, claws and blue eyes.

Stiles froze all over, heartbeat going through the roof. "What? What is it?" Derek growled deeply, and then Stiles heard it, too.

Howling. Coming from seemingly everywhere.

_Oh, these jerks._ Stiles pushed past Derek and was on his merry way straight to the balcony, when a more than disgruntled Derek caught him around the waist.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Claws and Fangs hissed.

"I'm gonna tell the assholes to be good little dogs and go and bark at another tree. And I will tell Scott to…"

"He isn't down there."

"Fine! Then I will send him a message!"

Derek shook his head and dragged Stiles backwards, but Stiles really didn't want to go. He was angry and frustrated and _angry_ and had just found a more than satisfying way to get all these feelings off his chest. He pushed hard against Derek, only to find himself scooped up into Derek's arms and carried back into the kitchen.

"Let me down! Let me down!"

Derek did, so quickly that Stiles lost his footing and fell towards the still hot oven. Only a moment before his hands made contact with the stove top, he got grabbed by Derek again. "Shit."

Derek looked ready to tear someone apart. He seized Stiles' wrists, turning his hands around. "Did you…?"

"No. No, I'm fine. I'm good."

_Jesus, what a mess._

The howling continued, and for the first time in his life, Stiles wished he had a gun. He was sure his father had some wolfsbane bullets lying around, courtesy of Chris Argent. But seriously? Even a good airgun would do, just to make those bastards jump around a bit.

"Who the hell are they?"

"Some teenage betas from Mona's pack. They're far away so calm down. They won't really dare to come closer."

"And what do they want? A bit of were-mobbing in the evening?"

Derek shrugged. "Some kind of dare, I guess." He suddenly looked tired, all human again. "The eggs are cold."

Stiles' hackles weren't only rising; it felt as if they stood straight up from his neck. He grabbed the pan and threw it into the sink. "I'm making new ones. Without onions."

 

***

 

Stiles woke up to the sensation of lying on clean sheets. He blinked around a bit, watching the morning sun peeking through Derek's window shades. It was definitely too early to be awake, so he tried to turn, but noticed he couldn't, due to an arm slung around his waist. Well. That was new. Stiles listened for any sign that Derek might be awake, but heard only a soft snorkeling sound; Derek was still asleep. Not someone to miss the chance for getting closer to Derek, Stiles nestled up to him, pressing his back against Derek's chest, and then he slowly let his eyes close again. He drifted in and out of sleep for an unknown time, when suddenly a highly unwelcome noise startled both of them.

A phone was ringing.

"Guh!" Derek snapped, which was far more articulated than the noise that first came out of Stiles' mouth.

"That's not one of our cells," Stiles groused.

"Landline." Derek unraveled them quickly, which wasn't easy because Stiles was kind of lying on top of him -and when the hell had that happened and why hadn't he been awake to enjoy it?- and trotted over to the phone, picking it up. "Hello?"

Stiles watched him closely. If this was another 'little prank' then he would find Scott before the day was over and pull so hard on his ears that Scott would be able to make a knot out of them on top of his head.

Suddenly Derek stood ramrod straight, and Stiles sat up. _Scott, you will be swinging on your ears from a tree, dammit!_

"Good morning, Sheriff," Derek said in a strangled voice.

_Oh no. No. No. No._

Derek turned around and looked at the nightstand. "You're right, sir, it certainly isn't anymore." He stared at Stiles, red-faced, who also looked at the alarm clock.

_Noon. Wonderful._

"Yes, sir. I'm not sure if… ah… your son is… I understand." Again, as if looking for guidance, Derek glanced at Stiles.

_Do I have wolf's hearing?_ Stiles raised his hands, pointed at his ears and shrugged.

"Ah… yes. Yes. I see. No, that's… that's fine."

Stiles crawled out of bed, got his cell and started texting.

_Hey Dad, Derek doesn't like onions. :)_

"Oh yes, of course, I'll wait. - - - Well, sir, I will… excuse me?" A death glare was thrown at Stiles who tried not to laugh. "It's fine, sir, really, please, don't put yourself out on my account." Another glare. "All right. We… we will be there. Ah, do you want to speak to… I see. Goodbye, sir." Derek threw the phone down at the bed. "No wonder he doesn't want to talk to you."

Stiles smiled. "So you _will_ accompany me?"

"Do you think I have a choice?"

"It will be fun, you'll see."

 

_Chapter Four_

 

_It will be fun. It will be fun. It will be fun._ Stiles wondered how often he had to repeat this little mantra until he believed it. _It won't be fun. It won't be fun. Not with Derek in this mood._ Stiles sighed and threw another look at Derek in the passenger seat; Derek, who had spent at least one hour in the shower. Alone. Stiles still wasn't sure what Derek thought he had to wash off; the man had done nothing more than reading in an enormous book about fishing and, from time to time, glaring at Stiles before he had gone on the shower trip. Oh wait, and there had been the two hours while they had been listening - _again_ \- to pubescent howling which hadn't improved either Stiles' or Derek's mood. There hadn't been any extra fun at all.

_No fun, no fun, no fun._

It certainly had been fun to see Derek coming downstairs again, though. Although definitely not overdressed, Derek looked good enough to eat in old blue jeans and the white shirt.

_Gah._ Stiles glanced back at the road, which wasn't easier to drive on in the evening, quite the opposite. The last thing he needed was to collide with any of the construction sites he had had trouble with two days ago. Two days ago. Two Days. _Don't. Do not think about it. Do not think about pipe dreams._

"Something wrong?"

_Fuck, he can smell every morose thought I'm having!_ "Nothing's wrong. I just wonder if my dad will manage roasted pork without adding onions."

"That's just perfect."

"Smile, Derek, we're here." Stiles parked the jeep behind his father's car. When they got out, he once again noticed Derek's more than prim body language. "Derek, it's fine. My father loves to fuss about things like no onions, no shellfish, no green peppers."

Once more, another glare.

"Well, come on then."

Before Stiles managed to get his keys out of his pockets, the door opened and he found himself engulfed in a tight hug from his father. _Right. It's been a while since he saw you and you didn't even think about it._ "Hey, Dad," he murmured into his father's neck. "Good to see you."

 

***

 

"Seriously, I love it," his dad said, admiring the shining leather bag Stiles had given him. "You shouldn't have spent so much money, though."

Stiles didn't comment; his thoughts were divided between Derek, who was still standing in a corner of the living room, the strange expression on his father's face and -for some unknown reason- one of the other gifts in his bag. The present for Scott, one of these silly videogames they had loved to play. _I am an idiot._

"I'm happy you like it," he finally got out.

For a very long moment, no one said anything.

_Did you think this would be easy? Any of it? Really?_

"Ah, Dad, do you need help in the kitchen?"

"No, no, dinner is ready. Just take your seats; I'll get it out of the oven."

Stiles sat down, then beckoned Derek, who _still_ stood in the corner, looking like he would consider running away any second. It was impossible to blame Derek, though; Stiles' father had spoken exactly two words in Derek's direction -"Hello, Derek"- and that had been that. Not that his dad was a chatty person, but this was definitely a new record, even considering the awkwardness of the situation.

Derek took the place next to Stiles, furthest away from the head of the table, and Stiles sighed. It wouldn't be the last sigh, he was sure of it. Derek was as stiff as a poker, and his father, who just came out of the kitchen with various dishes, was also walking ramrod straight. And Stiles couldn't think of a thing to say to ease the tension. Not. A. Thing. He wished he would dare to lay his hand on Derek's arm, but he really didn't.

***

Dinner was a _very_ quiet affair. Derek congratulated Stiles' father on his cooking, looking like he expected to be punched in the face. His dad thanked him, waving his hand like he was swatting away gnats.

Stiles tried to chew and swallow as much as he was able to.

Dishes were put away, bottles of beer appeared. Stiles went first, grabbed the bottle like a lifeline, and of course, his father was throwing daggers at him at once.

"Hey, I'm old enough."

"I am very aware of that," his dad answered, gravely.

Derek didn't even look at the bottles.

Stiles managed exactly one gulp, when his father took a beer, leaned back on his chair and said, "So."

Throwing a quick glance at Derek, who just crossed his arms -no help there-, Stiles looked back at his father and tried to smile. "Yeah, Dad, I'm back. I'll show you my diploma tomorrow, but I have to say that I think I made you…"

"Stiles."

_Right. Who cares._

"He's got a fellowship at the BMC."

Stiles stared, while Derek looked calmly at Stiles' father.

"Stiles, what…? I mean... another year?"

Turning back to his father, Stiles cleared his throat. "Um… probably two years, Dad. I'm not sure yet. I want to… well, it's… pediatrics."

"I don't understand. I thought… I thought you would come back home soon, for good, I mean. I thought… you wanted to…"

Stiles interrupted. "No, Dad, I… you see, plans change. Boston is… They have a program for homeless children, and maybe I will continue there, I… I don't know yet. But I'm not coming home. I… sorry, no."

Trying to avoid his father's eye, Stiles looked down at the tabletop for a second and then threw a side glance at Derek, who was just about to say something. Stiles' hand came down hard on Derek's thigh, squeezing warningly. Stiles hadn't the slightest idea how and why Derek knew about Stiles' plans, hell, he didn't even know what Derek wanted to say, but whatever it was, it wasn't a good idea for him to talk to his father right now. Stiles had wanted to break the news to his father gently, and the fact that he would be -again, for all the wrong reasons- a disappointment to his dad was something he didn't want to dwell on right at this moment.

"So, you knew about that, Derek? Well, I've been stupid to think otherwise. What I don't understand is…"

"Dad…"

"I googled him."

Stiles turned his head to stare at Derek again.

"He was top of his class. Quite an achievement, don't you think?" Derek not quite growled. Not quite.

Stiles still stared at him when suddenly his father's hand landed on his right arm. His head whirled around, and from the direction of his neck came a loud clunk. _Ow, dammit!_ In the next second, Derek's hand was there and pressed down on the exact right spot. Stiles stopped breathing; it appeared to be safer this way, with his father's hand on his arm and Derek's hand on his neck.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Since his father didn't seem to care, Stiles took a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you. As a surprise." Derek's hand slid away. "But something came up and…" Stiles closed his mouth quickly. _Jesus._

"So this," his dad pointed at Derek, "is recent, then?"

Stiles' stomach took a slow roll. His father seemed, for whatever reason, relieved. Not daring to look at Derek, Stiles stated quietly, "No. Not really. It depends how you look at it."

"It depends?"

Before Stiles could consider an answer he actually _wanted_ to give, Derek jumped up. After his dad glanced at Derek, he also got up quickly. So did Stiles; Derek's eyes were glowing blue. "What is it?"

"We've got company," Derek answered, while his eyes went back to green. A very tired, dark green, Stiles thought, and then all thinking stopped.

"These fucking assholes!" Stiles stormed into the direction of the front door, only to be hindered by Derek.

"Stiles, don't!"

"This is my home! I won't allow…"

"Scott's out there! With Mona and the rest. You don't want to…"

"Ask me if I give a fuck! There are quite a few things…"

There was loud knocking on the back door, and Stiles broke free from Derek's grip and started down the hall. He heard his dad calling out to him, but by now, he was far too angry to be stopped by anyone. He ripped the door open and shouted, "What, are you not brave enough to knock on the front door?"

Scott, who was standing right in front of him, stumbled backwards a few steps, but straightened up again. Behind him, Mona stood in the back garden, and in the shadows under the trees Stiles could make out the shapes of at least five other… werewolves, probably.

"What do you want here?"

Scott hissed, "Derek's in there and I wanted to…" He broke off, a weird expression on his face.

"Yes, he is! We just finished dinner and as far as I remember, you were not invited!"

Mona, red-eyed and not completely looking human anymore, muttered something Stiles didn't get, but Scott barked in her direction, "I know that already, thank you!" Turning back to Stiles, he spat, "I don't believe it. You let Derek fuck you?"

_Right. I didn't change my clothes._

Something snapping inside him far louder than the muscle in his neck a few minutes ago, Stiles gritted his teeth. "Yes, I do. And you let Mona fuck you. I think I've got the better deal."

Two things happened almost at the same time, then. Mona jumped, growling and fangs bared, and from somewhere behind Stiles Derek shot forward, crouching in front of him, not growling but roaring. And Omega or not, Mona stopped short for a moment. Then Scott roared back, rushing in Derek's direction, Stiles moved forward, not at all knowing how to stop the bloodbath he could foresee happening, and then a shot rang, freezing any movement.

 

***

 

Shaking his head to get the humming out of his ears, Stiles dug his fingers in Derek's white shirt. Almost as if he had werewolf vision, he could see the remains of the fragmented bullet that had splintered on the concrete right in front of Mona and Scott. Remains that contained a certain amount of coarsely grounded powder. Scott and Mona retreated, and even Derek, who wasn't in danger of breathing the powder in, sat back on his heels with his head rising.

_I'd been right; Chris left a few gifts_ , Stiles thought, while his hands grasped Derek's shoulders even harder.

"Mr. Stilinski…" Scott began.

Stiles father appeared at Stiles left side, holding a gun Stiles had never seen before in his life. _Right. Chris didn't leave a few gifts, he left an arsenal._

"Be quiet, Scott. Be quiet, leave and take your new friends with you."

"Mr. Stilinski," Scott tried again, "you have no idea what…"

"Your girlfriend just tried to attack my son, and then _you_ tried to attack the one who defended him. There isn't much more I need to know, don't you think? Leave. Now."

Mona -still not looking human- got hold of Scott's arm and started drawing him backwards, but Scott shook her hands off and took two steps forward, with the result that Stiles' dad cocked the gun again. By now, though, Scott ignored him, ignored Derek and looked straight at Stiles. "Stiles, please, you can't be serious."

"Funny thing. I can't believe _you're_ serious." Stiles threw a pointed look at Mona.

"Stiles, you're my best friend! You… you can't… you can't do this!"

"Do what exactly? Believe everything your new girlfriend tells you? You're right, I can't do this. Sorry."

Scott repeated, "You're my best friend. You have to be on my side."

From the puppy-eyes-look, Stiles knew that Scott really meant what he said. Bitterness that had grown over the last years clogged his throat for a moment. "And why aren't you on my side?"

Scott's face hardened. "You left. I stayed around. _We_ stayed around."

_I was wrong. He has changed._

"Who is this 'we' you're talking about? Where's Isaac these days, Scott? Where are the twins? Where is Lydia? I don't know anybody who's with you right now."

"But you will! You were always part of the pack!"

_I wonder if he told Mona that little piece of information._

Stiles should have laughed straight into Scott's face, but seriously? He felt more like crying. "So, this is about… 'The Pack'? You're making me choose?"

"Yes! Yes!" Scott beamed. He _fucking_ beamed. Before Stiles could open his mouth to wipe that stupid smile right off Scott's face, he felt the shoulders beneath his hands drop. His anger dropped right with them. Unsure for a moment, Stiles finally stroked his right thumb over Derek's neck, Derek's cheek, making a stand. Then he looked back at Scott.

"Fine, Scott. Take Mona and your pack and leave my father's home, garden, whatever. I'd wish you a good night, but I kinda doubt you'll have one." Stiles tugged on Derek's shirt, and thankfully, Derek straightened up and followed him. On the way to the living room, he heard his father shut the door.

Now Stiles really needed a beer.

 

***

 

Stiles' father reloaded the gun and handed it over to Derek. "Here, better take this. Wait," he took a handgun out of the -well-stocked- gun locker, "take this one, too, but please don't shoot yourself in the foot."

"Sheriff…"

"My name's John." He threw at least five bullet boxes at Derek.

To cover up Derek's facial expression, Stiles asked, "Where's mine?"

"You have a license now?"

"Dad…"

"No license, no gun."

"I think this is an extraordinary situation and…"

"No."

"Fine." Stiles rolled his eyes. _Because it's healthy for a werewolf to shoot at someone with wolfsbane bullets. He has claws, I need the guns, dammit._

"So," his father remarked, getting a bit red in the face, "I think it's for the best if you two stay here for… a while. Um… I'm going to bed now. Please… keep it down to a dull roar, all right?" He retreated quickly towards the stairs.

Derek didn't say a thing, so Stiles tried. "Good night, Dad." He had wanted to sound suave and failed spectacularly.

 

_Chapter Five_

 

Stiles had to shove Derek upstairs and into his bedroom, otherwise they would have probably spent the night on the living room couch. Locking the door behind them, Stiles watched Derek closing the window -not after sniffing the night air for a few seconds-, then stowing the guns under the bed and sitting down on it, one knee twitching.

_Okay. Not okay. Man, this is AKWARD._

He walked casually over to his bed, or better he tried to, and then leaned quite as casually against the night stand. And there he stood. And stood. And…

_Say something!_

"Guess you don't feel like kissing right now, do you?"

_Oh my God, who told you to say something?_

Derek looked up at him, for quite some time. "Not a good idea. Your father told us to be quiet."

Stiles, who thought seriously about locking himself into his wardrobe and never coming out of it again, wasn't really sure about what Derek meant with that and asked nervously, "What?"

Derek stood up.

Stiles sat down on the nightstand.

Derek closed the distance between them. "I really don't think I can stay quiet when I'm kissing you." He leaned forward, and somehow, the bedside lamp fell down and smashed on the floor.

Derek frowned.

Stiles swallowed. "My father has earplugs."

 

***

 

When Stiles had thought about kissing Derek -and he had, he had had years to think about Derek kissing him- he had always thought that… well, that Derek would kind of eat him alive.

_Wrong. So wrong._

Derek's lips touched his almost hesitantly, as only to get a first, fleeting taste, then they drew back a bit, and for the life of him, Stiles couldn't help following them. Before he could make a total fool out of himself and start grabbing or, god, begging, Derek came back. Surely now, far more confident, intent on tasting, Derek's lips covered Stiles', and Stiles held on and grabbed Derek's hair, maybe he even begged, and he didn't care.  
Derek's mouth opened, Stiles' followed, and Derek tasted like cardamom and weirdly enough, like moss, and the world tilted a bit and, oh, Derek had scooped him up and carried him over to the bed, and really, Stiles was eating Derek alive.

Until Derek stopped with the kissing, and Stiles flailed around a bit, and Derek murmured, "Wait, wait a moment," and wrestled Stiles out of his shirt. _Good idea_ , and Stiles ripped on Derek's shirt which was stuck in his jeans and _Jesus._

"That was one of my good shirts."

"And none of mine will ever fit you," Stiles smarted and pressed his mouth on the next patch of naked skin available, while his hands tried to open Derek's jeans.

"Hey."

Stiles looked up.

"Slow down, Stiles." And then Derek grinned a bit - _If he's grinning like that I must look at him like an idiot_ \- and took one of Stiles' hands and kissed the palm. Now Stiles was absolutely sure how he had to look.

"Derek…" and he was cut off by another kiss, which was followed by another, and Derek's body was lowering, lying on top of Stiles and seriously, they could have lost the pants first, and maybe he said something about that because Derek, who was just kissing a line down his neck, suddenly raised his head. He had a strange look in his eyes.

"Why are you in such a hurry, Stiles?"

_Worried. He looks worried. What the hell are you doing? Turning this into an angst fest?_

"I…"

_Shut up!_

"I'm afraid that…" Stiles swallowed the rest.

Derek furled his eyebrows. "What are you afraid of?"

"… that you will stop." Not the entire truth. Not a lie, either.

Derek looked at him for a seemingly long time, and then he shook his head. "I won't stop."

Stiles swallowed again. "Okay."

Eyebrows still drawn together, Derek slid his thumb over Stiles' bottom lip. He lowered his head, and his tongue followed the line of his thumb, deepening the kiss easily.

Stiles trembled and he tried to stop, he had to stop because… _How long do you think he's willing to play kid's games? Now you start acting like a shy virgin? What the fuck's wrong with…_

Without breaking the kiss, Derek growled. His arms were gripping Stiles' waist, and then Derek sat up, taking Stiles with him, and turned them both so they ended up lying side by side. When Derek drew back this time, he didn't grin, he smiled. "Kiss me," he said, while his fingertips were slowly stroking Stiles' face.

Stiles smiled back at Derek, and, after a moment's hesitation, he pressed his lips against Derek's, carefully at first, but then with more confidence when Derek gasped quietly. _What did he say? 'I can't stay quiet when I'm kissing you'? Well._ Stiles' tongue stroked deeply now, exploring Derek's teeth and tongue, pausing a while to draw Derek's upper lip into his mouth, biting gently, and now Derek _was_ making noise. He was moaning and his fingers were digging into Stiles' hair, pulling him even closer. And finally - _Finally!_ \- Stiles was overpowered by a wave of almost painful arousal.

This time, Derek's lips tried to follow his when he started to slide them over Derek's beard down to his neck. There, Stiles hesitated instinctively for a moment, but Derek threw his head back, and Stiles started up again, biting, kissing and gnawing his way down to Derek's chest. Smiling, he let Derek's chest hair catch on his teeth, making Derek jump, swear and moan at the same time.

_This. This is fun. The last times… doesn't matter now._

The path his mouth and tongue followed finally ended at Derek's waistband, but this time, Stiles wasn't in a rush. Well, at first. But… _Seriously, how had he managed to button this thing up in the first place? Now there's even less space._ He fumbled around for a while, starting to swear, until Derek laughed a bit and reached down to help him. Stiles' own pants were already open - _and when and how the hell did that happen?_ \- and landed in a heap on the floor, tangled with Derek's jeans and their underwear. And then it hit him.

"Shit. Oh shit."

Derek, all rumpled hair and deep voice and dark eyes, growled, "What?"

"There's no… the lube's at your house."

"Do I look like I care?"

And before Stiles could even begin to think about what he meant by that, Derek skidded down to the end of the mattress, moving them into a sixty-nine position. But…

"Derek, that's not… I want to…"

"Stiles, I'm not going downstairs to get some oil or butter or whatever you have in mind out of your father's kitchen. And neither will you."

Stiles lowered his eyes. "I just… I want to be close to you." When he looked up again, Derek's eyes were gentle.

"Yes." And then Derek was turning them until they were face-to-face again and began to slowly pump Stiles' cock, pausing from time to time to swipe a finger over the head or to tease the rim with a fingernail, and Stiles gasped, arched his back and drew Derek on top of him. They moved together, faster and harder, both of them moaning and both of them hushing the other, kissing with teeth banging together, and Stiles wasn't sure anymore where he ended and Derek began, and jeez, what a thought, and he hoped he hadn't said that out loud, and then suddenly Derek convulsed over him and croaked _something_ , and Stiles hadn't understood a word and it still pushed him over the edge.

And then there was lazy kissing, and Derek wiped them down with his ripped white shirt, and more kissing, and Stiles held Derek tight and didn't let go, and Derek didn't mind at all, and…

And everything was different.

 

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a HUGE thank you to my lovely beta heavenlyxbodies for putting up again with my... let's say eccentric way of writing and for not giving up on me, and to my sister E. for extreme-cheerleading.


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